


Showmance

by SpaceMatriarchy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Movie Crew AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceMatriarchy/pseuds/SpaceMatriarchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates having animals on set. He might not mind the animal handler, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showmance

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post in the Movie Set Memes facebook group, which read "When the animal trainer arrives on set and your realize that you love raccoons and want to have sex with another man" over a picture of a handsome man covered in baby raccoons. If the guy who posted that meme ever finds this, I want him to know I'm sorry.  
> I had wanted to write something like this for Take Your Fandom to Work Day but alas, the inspiration didn't strike until months after the deadline.  
> See endnotes for a glossary of set lingo.

Dean had read the script. Dean knew which scenes they were shooting that day. Dean had never really understood the need to fork over cash and fall hours behind schedule to the unpredictability of working with animals, especially for a throw away joke in a goddamn corporate promotional video of all things, but he knew the raccoons were coming. He knew that much.

Sam and Dean had gotten through the lunch line and were holed up in the location’s tiniest unused room, eating surrounded by spare C-stands and cases for equipment already set up downstairs.

“Charlie for Sam,” Crackled a woman’s voice over their walkies.

Sam looked up from his emails and Dean looked up from his phone. Sam snatched up his walkie from the table and responded. 

“Go for Sam,” He said.

“Can you go to two?” Charlie asked.

“Sure,” He replied, and paused to change the radio channel. He waited a beat, and then held the button down again. “Sam for Charlie?”

“Hey, the animal handler is here and I’m in the middle of something with Chuck, can you go meet him? And help him with the cages? I don’t want to have problems getting everyone back to work after lunch because the babies are a distraction.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “Where do you want to hold them?”

“I kicked the quote unquote grip safety meeting out of the garage, he can stay there. Let him know he can have lunch.”

“Copy.” Sam left the walkie on two as he stood and pulled his jacket off the back of the folding chair he had been sitting on, just in case their 1st AD had any additional information to impart. “You wanna come?” He asked Dean.

“Uh, ten-two,” Dean replied. Code for  _ I’m going off duty for five minutes to take a shit. _

“Seriously?” Sam scoffed. “You won’t carry one box to save us an extra trip from parking?”

“Dude, I don’t like raccoons,” Dean said. “All they do is eat garbage and make babies. Touching them is not in my job description.”

“They’re in cages.”

Dean lifted his eyebrows, making no indication that the fact did anything to change his mind.

“It’s gonna take me like half an hour if we have to make two trips. Lunch is gonna be over.”

“Good thing you’ve got a desk, you can eat while the rest of us do an honest day’s work.”

“I’ll buy you a burger on the way home. A real one, not lukewarm crafty mystery meat,” Sam said.

Dean pretended to consider for a moment, looked at his paper plate full of bean salad and cold pasta, and then considered quite seriously. He sighed.

“Goddammit, fine,” Dean said. He stood and leaned precariously over a pile of boxes to retrieve his own jacket from on top of his bag, which he’d stashed in the corner when he’d arrived at seven that morning. 

Sam was right, of course. The limitations of street parking meant someone arriving so late in the day to a production with a not insignificant crew was a five, ten minute walk down the road. 

As locations manager, Sam had first call, and while Dean technically could have snuck by with an extra half hour of sleep in the morning, he wasn’t so dedicated to that thirty minutes of rest as to be unwilling to carpool with Sam from their apartment to location. By lunch, with all cast and crew now present, the line of cars and equipment trucks and trailers stretched down the suburban road and around each corner.

“There he is,” Sam said, as they rounded a bend in the road and saw man in jeans and a dark button up shirt standing at the tailgate of a grey pick up. “Hey!” Sam called out.

The man looked up, and stepped forward to meet them as they approached. He had the look of a man permanently a little lost, eyes bright, hair either uncontrollable or just uncontrolled. 

_ Well, _ Dean thought,  _ if it’s gotta be raccoons, that’s at least a face worth the rabies risk. _

“Castiel?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” The man replied, reaching to shake Sam’s hand. “Sorry, Charlie didn’t give me your name.”

“Oh, sorry about that, she’s a bit overloaded today,” Sam said, shaking Castiel’s hand. “I’m Sam, I’m locations. This is Dean.”

Dean also shook the man’s hand. “I’m props master, but it’s lunch and Sam thought you could use an extra pair of hands with the, uh…” He trailed off. To finish that sentence without a pause may have led to Dean using a word like ‘vermin’ or something equally likely to piss the guy off.

“They’re raccoons,” Castiel said, with a glance back to his truck and a small smile. “Just little ones, though.”

Damn, if that wasn’t a charming smile. Dean smiled back.

“How many cages do you have there?” Sam asked.

“Five,” Castiel said. “Two of us take two, the other of you takes one?”

“Sounds good,” Sam said, coming around the back of the truck, Dean in tow, and he gripped the two closest cages - cat carriers, really - by their handles, and hauled them as gently as possible down from the truck bed.

Dean squinted into the cages, shiny little eyes staring back at him from nothing more than brown shapes in the dim inside of their carriers. “Where do you even get these?” He asked. “Do you just catch them in the wild?”

Castiel pulled another carrier from the truck and handed it to Dean before putting the remaining two on the ground while he locked up the vehicle. “They’re orphaned,” He said, returning to the carriers and allowing Sam to lead them back to the location. “The wildlife rescues are overloaded this time of year, but they know I’ll usually take a litter or two in every season. For this kind of work.”

“But then aren’t you stuck with them when they grow up?”

“Some of them can be released back into the wild once they’re older,” Castiel explained. “Some die, sadly. Some of them stay with me. Raccoons are very smart, they can be trained. More so than the cats.”

“You do cats, too?” Dean asked, wrinkling his nose.

Castiel paused. “Among a number of other animals, yes. I take it you don’t like cats?”

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to make a face,” Dean said.

“He’s really badly allergic,” Sam said from a few steps ahead of them. “Cats like him but they just makes him suffer.”

“Exactly.”

“We’ve got like four kinds of allergy meds in the bathroom and another two in the car, but it’s not even that bad unless he gets hair in his eyes. He’s a big baby about it, too.”

“Piss off, Sam,” Dean said.

“I see,” Castiel said, with just enough of a smile to let Dean know he didn’t take too much offense on behalf of his cats, but didn’t continue the conversation.

Dean and Sam helped him stack up the cages in the garage and retreated back upstairs to make the most of the last ten minutes of lunch. 

“See?” Sam asked as they climbed the stairs. “You didn’t even have to touch them.”

“I would have wrestled naked with them for that guy,” Dean said.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell me he was hot. Charlie didn’t tell me he was hot.”

“I’ve never met him, and I don’t think Charlie cares.”

“She’s gay, not blind,” Dean said. “It’s common courtesy. I’d have warned her if Scarlett Johansson walked on set.”

“If Scarlett Johansson walked on set, every grip in the place, not to mention you, would know about it before the door shut behind her.”

There was a crash somewhere downstairs, the sound of glass shattering, and a few voices screamed. The overhead lights went dead. 

The brothers glanced at each other, and in wordless agreement, rushed back to the stairs.

“Uh, locations?” Charlie’s shaken voice came from the walkie at Sam’s hip as he took the stairs two at a time.

“I’m coming!” Sam shouted into the house as he landed in the hall and took a sharp turn out of Dean’s view towards the front of the house.

Dean’s marginally more leisurely pace towards the living room left him passing the kitchen just in time for Castiel to catch his attention as he leaned into the hallway.

“What happened?” He asked.

“I’ve got no idea,” Dean said.

There was another set of scattered shouts, and before Dean could investigate, Sam came charging through the hallway, forcing them both to jump out of the way as he ran into the kitchen. He grabbed for a fire extinguisher in the corner and ran back out just as fast as he came. 

There was the hiss of the extinguisher and the shouts turned to a hesitant applause. Dean decided he ought to let Sam be the set hero and turned with a tired smile to Castiel. 

“You know what? Let’s stay in the garage.”

—

The grip who had attended two “safety meetings” that day already and hadn’t thought to tape down the chord on their heaviest light, nor to sandbag the c-stand, was thoroughly chewed out by Bobby while Sam reassured the PA who had tripped over the cord and had been hyperventilating for the past fifteen minutes. The fire was out. The 2nd AC, whose leg had been sliced by a shard from the broken window, was driven to the hospital for stitches. 

Sam sat on the phone with the homeowner in the kitchen, his arm still around the shaking PA. Chuck and Charlie were having a conference call with the executive producer and the client in an upstairs bedroom. The electricians were in the basement desperately trying to fix the house’s completely fried wiring.

Dean and Cas camped out in the garage, sitting on the floor with five stressed baby raccoons and as many donuts from crafty as Dean had been able to sneak out.

“There’s no way they’re gonna fix this today,” Dean said. “We’re gonna be a whole day behind schedule on this, if we’re lucky.”

“Then why don’t they send everyone home?” Castiel asked. 

“Listen, I don’t pretend to know what the guys in the production office are thinking, but if they want to pay everybody’s day rate to play Candy Crush for another six hours, more power to them.” He popped the last bite of his second donut into his mouth. “Besides, Sammy’s gotta stick around the fix this and I’m his ride home.”

“Did you and Sam meet on set?” Castiel asked.

“What? No, Sam’s my brother,” Dean said. “He’s only working in this industry because that’s what I was doing when he dropped out of law school.”

“Oh,” Castiel said.

“Why, what did you think?”

“Truthfully, I thought Sam was your boyfriend. Because you live together.”

Dean laughed. “Wow, no. No way. And besides, my sex life is just a string of showmances that end badly. The idea that anybody would date me long enough to move in is enough of a joke, let alone Sam.”

“You seem datable enough to me,” Castiel said.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Castiel,” Dean said, smiling.

“My friends just call me Cas.”

“Are we friends?”

“I’d like to be.”

Dean gave Cas’ boot a weak kick. “Don’t fall in love with me, Cas,” He said. “I work 80 hours a week and you’re a cat person. We’re incompatible.”

Cas smiled. “I’ll try to control myself.”

—

\------

\---

The sky was still dark, but the alarm clock on Dean’s night stand was buzzing at him incessantly.

He shifted forward to turn it off. Five AM. With an inward sigh, he made to stand - if he stayed in bed, he’d just fall back asleep - but was pulled back under the blanket by warm hands.

“Cas, crew call is at 6:30,” He said.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Awesome. Crew call is still at 6:30.”

“Five more minutes.”

Dean rolled over to face Cas and pressed his lips to his boyfriend’s forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay,” Cas drawled, and, never seeming to have opened his eyes fully in the first place, dozed immediately back off.

Dean carefully crawled out of bed and headed for the shower.

—

Dean had been rolling period-accurate cigarettes for this micro-budget Western to the peaceful sounds of “lock it up,” “rolling,” and “cut” buzzing over his walkie every five minutes, surrounded by every other non-essential crew member in a wooden cabin in the goddamn desert, for the better part of an hour when Jo poked her head in the back door.

Everyone in the room looked up and waited in anticipation for the silence of an ongoing take to be broken by the crackling voice of the 1st AD. “Cut! Moving on!” Charlie eventually said, and Jo stepped the rest of the way into the room.

“Just so nobody gets spooked or anything, I wanted to let you know, we’ve got live snakes that just showed up for the next scene.”

“Really?” Benny asked.

“Don’t you read the script?” Jo said.

“What’s a grip got to read the script for?”

Dean stood and tried to slip out the door as covertly as possible. “Handler in holding anywhere?” He asked.

“No, he’s waiting by his truck,” She said. 

He thanked her and walked out towards the stretch of sand that currently served as a parking lot.

There was Cas, sitting in the driver’s seat, air conditioning blasting. He had on his sunglasses, and a loose t-shirt, and was a little damp with sweat. If he’d looked like a cute nerd when they’d met six months ago, in the winter, the summer hot badass look wasn’t a half bad on him either.

“Hey, stranger,” Dean said with a smile, leaning into the open car window. 

Cas returned the grin. “Hello, Dean.”

“Funny meeting you here.”

“If only we all received a document every day telling us who will be on set when.”

Dean laughed. “Did you eat lunch? There’s still chili left, I think.”

“I did eat, but thank you.”

Whatever Dean had meant to say was cut off by a crackling from his walkie. 

“Anybody have eyes on Winchester?” Said one voice.

“Which one?” Came another.

“Dean,” Said the first.

“I think he went to his car.”

“Shit,” Dean said. “Guess I’d better go before I get caught skipping work to flirt.” He turned to go.

“Hold on,” Cas interrupted, and reached through the open window to rest a hand on Dean’s neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. “In case I don’t see you again until after wrap.”

“You’re a sap.”

“I love you,” Cas said.

“I love you, too,” Dean replied, and stole one more peck on the cheek before sprinting back across the sand.

**Author's Note:**

> Set Lingo Glossary  
> Location: Any place where shooting is done that is not on a sound stage. As Locations Manager Sam is in charge of the house.  
> Set: Any space where shooting is done.  
> C-Stands: A kind of tripod used for lights and other equipment. Very commonly seen on set.  
> [Name] for [Name], Go for [Name]: Walkie etiquette dictates that instead of just telling the thing you need to say to everyone, you identify who you want to talk to with "[Name] for [Name]" and they will let you know when they're ready to talk with "Go for [Name]"  
> Walkie: Walkie talkie.  
> Go to two: Walkie channels are typically listed on the call sheet. One for grip/electric, one for art, one for production. An additional channel is alway listed for conversation that might be better off private. Usually two. So 'go to [channel] two'.  
> Hold, in holding: On standby in an area close to set. Mostly this is a term used for cast and specialty crew members who are not regularly there.  
> Copy: More walkie etiquette. It means "I heard you and I understand."  
> Grip: A grip is a job on set involving moving and setting up equipment. Stereotyped as stupid and rude by everyone except grips themselves.  
> Grip "Safety Meeting": Most departments have occasional safety meetings. "Safety meeting by the grip truck" is also code for grips sneaking off to smoke and sometimes drink while on the job.  
> Ten-two: Ten-one or ten-two basically means "I'm leaving set and going to the bathroom" Ten-one is pee, ten-two is poop. So people can guess at how many minutes you'll be gone. Yes, it is one of the grossest things about this industry.  
> Crafty: Craft services. They provide snacks during the work day. Depending on the size and budget of a production, they may also prepare one or both meals. There will always be at least one meal, but bigger budget usually gets a designated catering company.  
> Call, call time: When a crew member is expected to arrive on set.  
> Day rate: Lots of on set jobs operate on a day rate - mostly because overtime can very quickly get to 6-8 hours a day.  
> Showmance: A term adopted from theater. A romantic relationship formed on set which doesn't long outlive the production.  
> "Lock it up": Stop all noise on set. There can be no unnecessary sound during a take as the microphones are very sensitive.  
> "Rolling": Camera is rolling, take is starting. Often also used to note when sound is rolling although there is technically a different term.  
> "Cut": Take is over.  
> "Moving on": We're finished with this set up and are going to move to the next.  
> “If only we all received a document every day telling us who will be on set when.”: In reference to the call sheet, a document which lists all cast/crew call times along with other helpful information for the day (location, scenes to shoot, meal times, nearest hospital)  
> "Anybody have eyes on...": Does anybody see or know where someone/something is.  
> Wrap: End of the work day, or end of the production.


End file.
